


Games

by weirdmilk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, my first time writing oikage don't @ me about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdmilk/pseuds/weirdmilk
Summary: Oikawa Tooru is a free man. He’s bound only by the laws of the land, and the laws of good taste. Today, he’s using that sweet, sweet freedom to sneak around the grounds of Shinzen high school. Oikawa's sources have informed him that they're hosting a week-long training camp, at which his least favourite, most troublesome rivals are regrettably in attendance. He has to admit it, though: most of his sleepless nights are caused by one Karasuno member in particular: the one with the most permanent scowl, the most disagreeable personality, and the bluest eyes.





	Games

Oikawa Tooru is a free man. He’s bound only by the laws of the land, and the laws of good taste. Today, he’s using that sweet, sweet freedom to sneak around the grounds of Shinzen high school. Oikawa's sources have informed him that they're hosting a week-long training camp, at which his least favourite, most troublesome rivals are regrettably in attendance. He has to admit it, though: most of his sleepless nights are caused by one Karasuno member in particular: the one with the most permanent scowl, the most disagreeable personality, and the bluest eyes.

For two years, Oikawa has kept his Kageyama-shaped thoughts in a box marked ‘DO NOT OPEN’, but that first practice match had upended the box entirely, and he’s not been able to close it since. And now, Kageyama, with all of his prodigal skill held tightly in his hands, feels closer than ever to his back. Oikawa feels his breath at his neck, again. It’s certainly worrisome. But, he again has to admit that underneath that worry is a layer of prickling excitement. The game is back on. He’s never backed down from a game before, and he won’t start now.

‘It’s good that we get to play against Tobio-chan again,’ Oikawa had said to Iwaizumi, on the long, stifling train journey down, and Iwaizumi had fixed him with a weary, knowing gaze that had left Oikawa feeling flustered. ‘What? It is! It’s going to - er - strengthen the team’s... resolve.’ Oikawa’s voice had tailed off, and Iwaizumi had rolled his eyes in lieu of a verbal response. Oikawa hadn’t brought up Kageyama again, embarrassed at his own transparency.  
  
‘Shinzen is kind of fancy,’ Oikawa remarks, taking in the large, silver buildings with his hands on his hips, reluctantly impressed. ‘He did well to get invited here.’

‘Seijoh is better,’ Iwaizumi says, eyes sweeping the campus with indifference.

‘Well, yeah, obviously, but - ’ He’s about to say something else, but a rough hand covers his mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence.

‘Down!’ Iwaizumi hisses, and pulls Oikawa to the ground, so that they’re both hidden by a neatly-manicured bush.

The reason for Iwaizumi’s sudden surge of violence becomes immediately clear: Karasuno is gliding as one large, black, unwelcome mass across the grass - close enough that he can see the laces on their shoes. The group is led by Daichi - their dull captain, Oikawa thinks uncharitably - and lingering at the back is - shit. Oikawa’s internal monologue sputters and stalls, as he tries unsuccessfully to quell his rising nerves - shit.

Kageyama. He’s talking to a silver-haired boy who Oikawa recognises as one of the boys on the sidelines, at the practice match. He looks serious, but it’s Kageyama, so Oikawa supposes that that’s just the natural order of things. He could be talking about the merits of melon bread, and he’d still look as though someone had just died.

‘Oh,’ Oikawa says, without quite planning what he’s going to say next, and he has to recalibrate his voice so that it doesn’t sound so high pitched when he continues. ‘God, he looks, er, in good form, doesn’t he, Iwa-chan?’ Such a statement is neutral, Oikawa thinks. Athletes are inherently aware of their opponents’ form: to be ignorant of such matters is to leave yourself vulnerable. It’s normal, Oikawa tells himself, firmly, and that’s that.

In response, Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a look filled to the brim with deepest loathing. ‘Did you come here to check out his technique, or his ass?’

‘Shut up!’ Oikawa hisses, his ears flushing a hot red. He punches Iwaizumi on the arm - perhaps a little harder than he means to, because Iwaizumi wobbles on his heels and nearly gives their position away. ‘Sorry,’ he adds, but feels a giggle fighting to leave his throat. This is espionage, he thinks. Hilarious, stupid espionage. He chances a glance at Iwaizumi’s face, but it’s suspiciously expressionless. Their eyes meet, and they both snort before quickly looking away from each other.

‘Come on,’ Iwaizumi says, once Karasuno has left the immediate vicinity, on their way to ruin someone else’s day. He stands up and stretches his arms, before pulling Oikawa up, too. ‘There must be a way to look less suspicious. Take the fucking glasses off.’

‘No,’ Oikawa says, ‘they are the ultimate disguise.’

‘They’re not a disguise at all.’

‘They’ll work on Kageyama. He’s an idiot. He’ll just think, ‘Wow, that boy with glasses looks a lot like Oikawa-senpai’.’

Iwaizumi tries to glare, but his face twitches, and he starts laughing. ‘Fuck, you’re right.’ He prods at the lens. ‘Is there any glass in them?’ He pokes Oikawa right in the eye. ‘Guess not.’ He laughs out loud again and Oikawa pokes him back, hard, in the neck.

Engaging Iwaizumi in roughhousing never ends well for Oikawa. His biceps are terrifying, and envied by the whole team. It had been foolish for Oikawa to start a poking war that he won’t be able to finish. He thinks this, distantly, as Iwaizumi loses patience and starts pummeling him in the stomach. The pummeling knocks him sideways, and he lands on the grass with a thud.

‘Oikawa-san?’

Well, shit. Oikawa knows that voice. He slowly raises his head, to delay the horrible moment when he has to acknowledge the person looming over his prone form. He feels personally betrayed by the universe.

‘Tobio-chan,’ he says grimly, directing it at the grass. He can hear Iwaizumi wheezing with laughter a few feet away. Kageyama can, too: his eyes flicker nervously over to the bush where Iwaizumi’s still crouched, uselessly.

‘Is - is that Iwaizumi-san?’ Kageyama watches the bush uncertainly.

‘No!’ Iwaizumi shouts, emerging from behind the bush.

‘Yes,’ Oikawa sighs, getting to his feet and brushing off his knees. Kageyama’s eyes flick between the two of them, his face impassive.

Iwaizumi sheepishly side-steps over to them. ‘Hey Kageyama,’ he says breathlessly, and the fact that he’s still clearly trying not to laugh ruins his attempt at composure. ‘How’s life.’ His voice wobbles on the word ‘life’. Oikawa glares at him.

‘Uh,’ Kageyama says nervously. ‘I should -’ He gestures vaguely at Karasuno’s retreating backs, a good hundred metres away.

‘No, no,’ Iwaizumi says jovially, striding over to Kageyama and clapping him on the back. Kageyama staggers forward slightly. ‘Stay and talk to Oikawa. Catch up. You’ve always been such good friends. It’s really touching and beautiful, in a way. Really moving.’ Oikawa makes a mental note to hold auditions for the position of his new best friend, because Iwaizumi is dead to him.

Kageyama makes an anxious noise. Iwaizumi jogs away, but not before hissing in Oikawa’s ear, ‘If you’re not making out by the time I get back I’m going to kick your ass.’ Oikawa opens his mouth in horror to say something - anything - but Iwaizumi simply sticks both middle fingers up at him from behind Kageyama and jogs faster.

The loss of Iwaizumi raises the awkwardness factor by at least three hundred percent. Silence reigns. Kageyama is glaring at the grass, and Oikawa is watching Iwaizumi jog over to the far side of the field, where he sits down and gets out his phone. He’s probably texting Hanamaki and Matsukawa, Oikawa thinks sourly. He can only imagine the number of eggplant emojis on the screen. Bravely, he turns his attention back to Kageyama.

‘So,’ Oikawa says generously. He might as well get it started, he thinks; Kageyama is as socially capable as a slug. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello,’ Kageyama mutters, folding his arms into a makeshift boundary, between the two of them. Oikawa wrinkles his nose. He has broken through every boundary that’s ever been put in front of him. He’ll break through Kageyama’s, too. ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’

‘What a pleasant surprise that I am, then,’ Oikawa says cheerfully. He’s delighted when Kageyama bites his lip and his cheeks darken. ‘Tobio-chan, you’re blushing!’ He knows his teasing is bordering on torment, but he can’t help it.

‘Horrible,’ Kageyama mumbles, resolutely keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. ‘Horrible surprise. He squints. ‘And why are you wearing glasses?’

Oikawa mock-gasps and presses a hand to his chest. ‘I’m wounded, Tobio-chan. My favourite kouhai, treating me like dirt. The disrespect!’

‘I’m not your favourite kouhai,’ Kageyama says darkly. ‘When I was twelve, you tried to force-feed me wasabi.’

‘Well,’ Oikawa says, ‘wasabi is delicious!’ He aims a cheerful peace sign in Kageyama’s direction. Kageyama’s scowl deepens, but so does his blush. He likes the teasing, Oikawa thinks. He makes a split second decision.

‘Hey,’ he says, ‘Tobio-chan. You like me, right?’

Kageyama gapes at him, but his blush deepens even further. Oikawa wonders idly if he’s going to pass out. ‘No,’ he says hoarsely, scowling at his shoes. The lie is so obvious that Oikawa doesn’t bother to comment.

Instead, Oikawa grins. ‘Go on a date with me. Just one.’

‘No,’ Kageyama says immediately, his eyes narrowing. He’s still thinking about the wasabi incident, Oikawa thinks, benevolently. ‘You don’t even like me. You hate me.’

‘A little bit,’ Oikawa agrees. ‘But not entirely.’

Kageyama bites his lip again, his eyes darting around nervously, as though hoping that one of his more emotionally competent senpais will swoop in to rescue their baby bird kohei. No one appears. It’s just the two of them, staring each other down like soldiers, muscles tense and ready. Oikawa waits, patient.

Kageyama stares at him, a light flush sprinkled across his usually-pale cheeks. His hair dances in the breeze. ‘Why?’ He pauses. ‘Why would you - ask that?’

‘I like you, a little bit, too,’ Oikawa says, with an honest shrug. ‘It just happened.’ Those thighs. His hands. His inhumanly blue eyes. Individually, it’s all meaningless. Hell, he’s surrounded by athletic thighs every day of his life. He’s immune to them. But Kageyama - the whole package - is something wonderful, something interesting and new. Oikawa likes new. Oikawa likes interesting. It stands to reason that Oikawa likes Kageyama.

Kageyama swallows. Oikawa tilts his head, waiting. He can sense his own victory in the way that Kageyama’s gaze shifts from his own shoes in a slow, nervous drag up Oikawa’s body - making stops at his hands, his wrists, his mouth. If Oikawa was a different sort of person, he’d reach out and touch Kageyama’s shoulder, to steady his nerves, to reassure him that it’s okay to want it. But he’s still Oikawa Tooru. He’s sharp, even as he’s soft.

‘Where would we go?’ Kageyama asks, shy. He clears his throat. ‘If I said yes. To one date. Just one.’ He pauses, and repeats, ‘Just one.’

Oikawa blinks. It’s not the response that he’d been expecting, Kageyama’s doth-protest-too-much denials notwithstanding. He can’t help feeling that if that’s the main issue Kageyama sees with dating him, then he’s not done badly selling the idea. He realises he’s smiling: not the ready-meal smile he sells to the girls in his class, but something more personal and intimate.

‘Wherever you want,’ Oikawa says, honestly. ‘Maybe not, like, Paris, though.’

‘Paris,’ Kageyama repeats to himself, and then - unbelievably - laughs. Oikawa has witnessed a miracle right here, in the sweet-smelling evening. The dusk pauses: the sun heaves itself higher in the sky, to watch, too. He meets Oikawa’s eyes as the sound dies out. ‘No. That’s fine.’ He pauses. ‘Your house. I want to see your house.’

Oikawa feels immediately flustered, and he’s sure it shows on his face. Kageyama doesn’t even know what he’s doing; that’s what makes him so good. Kageyama’s gaze drops to the twinned pink on Oikawa’s cheeks, and his eyebrows knit together, as though not quite believing what he’s seeing.

‘Yeah,’ Oikawa says. ‘That’s, er, fine.’ He feels as though this whole conversation has gone somewhere he hadn't led it. He’d expected Kageyama to be easily provokable, but instead, he’s been the same as always: earnest, serious, honest. Repeatedly running into that brick wall steadfastness has Oikawa feeling breathless and flighty, and in the market for bad decisions.

Kageyama’s smile is tilting at one side. On anyone else, Oikawa might call it a smirk, but that seems an improbable word to ascribe to Kageyama, of all people. ‘So,’ he says. ‘Go out with me.’

Oikawa stares at him, too shocked to pretend to be otherwise. ‘Uh?’

It’s undeniable, now: that is a smirk on Kageyama’s face. Oikawa is torn between delight and rage, but there’s nothing torn about his desire to kiss him. So he gives in to it, because at the very least, if there’s anything in which he can beat Kageyama, it must be kissing.

He reaches out a hand and angles Kageyama’s head up with gentle fingers. It’s both a calculatedly romantic gesture, and a reminder that Kageyama is still shorter than he is. He can see from the narrowing of Kageyama’s eyes that he indeed has been reminded of that happy fact, but judging from the way his smirk has melted like ice cream into a soft, shy smile, he doesn’t mind too much. And taking into account the way that his eyes have fluttered closed, long, lashes stroking his cheekbones, it seems quite probable that he’s actively enjoying Oikawa’s fingers on his skin. It’s not something Oikawa wants to think about too deeply, in public. He files the information away, to peruse through later. Privately.

Oikawa touches their lips together, keeping the contact light and breezy. It’s his duty as Kageyama’s senpai not to overwhelm him, he thinks, and he sure Kageyama hasn’t kissed anyone else. His own attraction to him is a total mystery of the universe: no one else could feel the same way, surely? Kageyama must be inexperienced - a bad kisser, in all likelihood. But when he pulls back, his knees feel curiously weak, all the same.

‘Have you done that before?’ Oikawa hisses, feeling a roiling mixture of pride and betrayal.

‘It gets boring on the bus.’ Kageyama’s voice is colourless, but there’s an unfamiliar spark in his eyes that betrays him. With the clarity of a perfect diamond, Oikawa suddenly realises that he needs to kiss Kageyama - right that second, immediately. He leans in again, and Kageyama’s eyes fall closed as quickly as though Oikawa had clicked a button. Oikawa likes that. He feels powerful.

Someone clears their throat pointedly, and Oikawa and Kageyama both snap their heads towards the sound. Oikawa has never felt so unhappy to see Iwaizumi. Kageyama looks equally ruffled.

‘Evening, lovebirds,’ says his hateful ex-friend, grinning widely at the two of them. Oikawa quickly drops his hand from where it had been resting - without his permission - at Kageyama’s neck. ‘We need to move for a bit. Karasuno is looking for Kageyama.’ Oikawa glances over at Kageyama, who shrugs.

Oikawa blinks stupidly, not wanting to leave Kageyama’s mouth behind. Not now, after experiencing its softness. ‘What? Now?’

‘Sorry,’ says Iwaizumi cheerfully, looking the exact opposite of sorry. ‘Needs must, and all that.’

There’s a beat of silence, until Iwaizumi laughs and says, ‘Okay, you are both terrible at this.’ He looks at them both fondly, and there's something paternal in his expression. ‘Kageyama, this is Oikawa’s number.’ He passes Kageyama his own phone, with Oikawa’s contact details up on the screen, under the name ‘Shithead’. Kageyama digs in his pocket and taps Oikawa’s number into his phone, too.

Oikawa feels his pocket vibrate a few seconds later. The message is from Kageyama, of course, and although it’s not a surprise, his stomach still feels pleasantly fizzy at the thought of it. The message simply reads ‘number’, which is so typically Kageyama that the fizziness increases exponentially. When he lifts his head, Kageyama is biting at his lower lip, but the corners of his mouth are turned upwards. 

‘We really have to go,’ Iwaizumi says, expression as surly as always, but Oikawa’s not fooled by the show of indifference: Iwaizumi’s voice is warm and fond.

‘I’ll call you,’ Oikawa says, over his shoulder, as several things happen at once. Daichi starts jogging towards the three of them, shouting something - he jogs with absolutely no style, Oikawa thinks - and Iwaizumi makes a noise of panic, grabbing his wrist and pulling Oikawa along with him. The two of them run across the grass, towards the Shinzen gates, and Oikawa feels a rolling starburst surge overtake his lungs; he bursts into breathless laughter. Iwaizumi pumps the air with a wordless shout, and dissolves into hopeless cackles too. This is what it means to be alive, Oikawa thinks: the wind on his face, Iwa-chan next to him. Kageyama.

Once they're a safe distance away, he dares to turn back. The captain is talking to Kageyama, but Kageyama’s not listening; his body is angled away - towards Oikawa, and he's smiling. 

It will be difficult, Oikawa thinks. This whole thing is inadvisable. But he finds himself slowing down further, turning around more completely. Iwaizumi stops too - sighing. 'Oikawa...' he begins. 

'Yeah, I know,' Oikawa says reluctantly, and follows Iwaizumi out. But he knows that Kageyama is watching him, and that knowledge is a warmth, in his chest. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ [weirdmilk](http://www.weirdmilk.tumblr.com); come shout at me about how underrated oikage is


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